


Winter in the Anderfels

by AuditoryCheesecake



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: Dorian thought he was going to die. That's the only reason he said what he did.





	

He brings flowers to the healers’ tent, because he has absolutely no other ideas. Flowers seem almost right, he thinks.

Cadash is conferring with the healer, and they stop talking to greet him. “He’s fine,” the healer says, wiping his hands on his smock. There’s a few bloodstains, but that’s only to be expected. Still makes his stomach do unpleasant things, though. “You’re not to upset him. He needs rest.”

It’s like the entire Inquisition is watching him. Judging, pitying. He can’t blame them. If he’d been more aware of the field, if he hadn’t turned his back on that Arcane Horror like a rookie Sten--

Cullen stands up when he ducks into the tent, and places himself between Bull and the bed.

“It’s _fine_ , Cullen.” Dorian’s voice is more annoyed than pained, and that much is a relief. “Go talk to Buttercup, I’m sure she wants your opinion on my state of mind.”

Neither Cullen or Bull move. Cullen’s scowl is fierce. If he were a mabari, his teeth would be bared.

“I just want to talk to him,” Bull says.

“He needs to rest,” Cullen snaps. “He took the full brunt of that Arcane Horror’s--”

“Yeah, I _know_. I was there.” They watch each other some more. Cullen thinks Bull’s going to say something to Dorian, because everyone knew. They all knew somehow, except for Bull, and they think he just ignored it. They think he doesn’t want what Dorian’s--

“Oh for Andraste’s sake.” He sees the shift of Dorian’s legs on the cot behind Cullen. “Both of you stop posturing. Cullen, I can deal with this on my own.”

Cullen goes. Bull stays, for Dorian to deal with. He sits on the stool that Cullen leaves empty.

There’s a bandage wrapped around Dorian’s head. Around the burn. The burn that stretches from his ear to his hip, _the gout of flame and the smell of burning hair, burning flesh. Dorian screamed, and Bull turned to see him smoking, a crackling barrier between them, fire licking at its edges. Bull wasn’t burnt at all, barely warm, but Dorian--_

“You’re staring,” Dorian says. He sounds tired. “It’s making me self conscious.”

“Sorry,” he looks away, then back. What he _wants_ to do is gather Dorian in his arms. “I brought you flowers.”

Dorian stares at them. “I haven’t any vases at the moment.”

Right. Stupid. “I’ll put them on the--” there isn’t even anywhere to put them.

“No, give them here.” He sighs with exasperation and there are more bandages on his hand. That wound wasn’t fire, but his own lightning. _Dorian slammed his palm against the Arcane Horror’s bony chest, and magic arced from the sky. Bull’s teeth ached with the force of the lightning and the charred remains of Dorian’s robes billowed back. The Boss was shouting somewhere behind him--_

“You didn’t need to take the hit for me.”

“Yes,” says Dorian, in the same tone as he’d said it on the battlefield, “I did.”

“I can handle a bit of fire. I’ve already got the scars.” He can’t read Dorian’s expression with one eye hidden. “Your face…”

“Will be fine. Everyone’s been very quick to assure me that I will look dashing.”

Dorian, with scars on his pretty face, down his beautiful body, to always show how he almost died, and just because Bull was so _stupid_.

“But, of course, you’re not obligated to agree.” It’s only once Dorian stops meeting his eye that Bull realizes that he’s been staring again. He doesn’t know what his own face is revealing.

“I think that we should talk about-”

“Do we have to?” Dorian’s voice is petulant. “It was a slip of the tongue, that’s all.”

“That’s all,” Bull echoes. _The Horror screamed and died. Dorian staggered once and crumpled to the ground. Bull dropped his ax, but his feet were locked to the earth. Just that morning, Dorian had woken in his arms, smiled in that way that only he did--_

“You said a lot of things, while we were going back to the camp.” _Dorian, delirious, clung to Bull and whispered Tevene against his shoulder with a tongue cracked and dry from smoke--_

“In my defense, I thought I was going to die.” His bravado is slipping.

“You meant it, though.”

Dorian looks offended. “Of course I did.”

“I’ve never…” There are probably things he’s supposed to say, when someone says-- when _Dorian_ says-- “I don’t know…”

“I _know_ you don’t. That’s why I never said it.” He sighs heavily. “It’s just a bad habit of mine. I get attached. I get dramatic. I say things that I really ought to keep to myself.”

Bull stares at his hands. Dorian puts the flowers down on the cot next to him, picks them back up.

“So this is what finally renders you speechless.” Dorian sounds bitter, resigned. 

“How long?” Bull asks, at the same time.

“Long enough.” If Bull only looks at his mouth, he can pretend that Dorian’s lips are chapped by the mountain air. “I didn’t intend to let it interfere with anything important.”

“I didn’t know.” He feels like should have, like somewhere along the way, it should have occurred to him. 

Dorian chuckles. “Of course you didn’t. I didn’t want you to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I knew it would change things. Because I knew you’d ask so many questions.” Exasperation, as if Bull was a book someone had shoved onto the wrong shelf. “Because I know you don’t feel the same way.”

“You think you know a lot of things.”

“Am I wrong?” Dorian knows how to wield bitterness like a weapon.

Bull leans forward on the little stool, the legs creaking slightly. Dorian turns to look at the wall of the tent, jaw tight.

“I thought you were dead,” Bull says, and Dorian closes his eyes. “I thought that demon had killed you, and then I thought you were going to die while I was carrying you to camp.”

Dorian pulls in an unsteady breath between his clenched teeth, but doesn’t say anything.

“You kept talking the whole time, that’s how I knew you were still alive. You didn’t seem to hear anything anyone said to you.” Bull’s had plenty of terrible moments in his life, and another one to add to the list shouldn’t hurt so much. “You didn’t hear me when I--”

“ _Stop_.” Dorian’s fists curl over the thin sheet across his legs. “Please, Bull, don’t.”

Bull can’t see Dorian’s expression, but he knows the way his shoulders rise and fall.

“I don’t want your pity,” Dorian says, “and I don’t want your obligations. You don’t have to love me just because I love you.”

“Except that I do.”

“You don’t _have_ to--” Dorian’s voice rises, almost angry.

Bull talks over him on purpose this time. “I do love you.”

This time it’s Dorian who’s speechless. He looks at the flowers, at his hands, and finally at Bull. He takes another deep breath like he’s about to say something, and then doesn’t.

“And I can’t pretend that I don’t.” Maybe it should hurt that Dorian did, maybe it will later, but all Bull wants is for Dorian to know.

“Can't you?” Dorian’s eyes are locked on his. A challenge. 

“No.” He can pretend a lot of things, has learned how through training and long practice, but this-- Bull looks at Dorian’s face, where the bandages meet his unmarred skin. “I can't.”

“How long?” Dorian echoes snidely. It suddenly occurs to Bull that Dorian doesn’t believe him. 

“Months?” he offers. “Since that dragon, or maybe since the day you almost caught Crestwood on fire, or--” wait, he does know. Down to the second. “We were in the Exalted Plains. The Boss took Solas to hunt down some Elven crap, and you had a hole in your boot. You asked if I’d carry you back to Val Royeaux to buy new ones.”

Dorian stares. “And you said you would. You said you’d carry me to the Anderfels if I would stop complaining.”

Bull shrugs. “I would. Even if you talked the whole way.”

Dorian laughs a little desperately. “I think I would need a substantial quantity of lyrium to return that favor.” But he’d do it. He didn't say he wouldn't. 

“Let's hope I'm the one carrying you then.” Dorian is right _there_ and Bull wants so badly to touch him.

“It does seem that you owe me a bit of indulgence, seeing as I saved your life just yesterday.” 

“Sure, but I think the Anderfels aren't gonna be much warmer than Orlais this time of year.” 

Dorian actually smiles at that. “Perhaps not, then.”

“What about your room? Or mine?” He might as well push his luck.

Dorian’s expression turns cloudy. “Truly? You expect to go on just as we were before?”

“No,” Bull admits. “You’re on bedrest, after all.”

“Oh, of course, that’s the only thing that’s different.”

He could just reach out and touch Dorian’s hand. It’s right there, after all. “The whole being in love with you thing isn’t really anything new, but I guess you might want a day or two to get used to it.”

“I might,” Dorian agrees.

“And I’ll wait,” Bull tells him. Dorian’s eyebrows are drawn together, what he can see of them under the bandages. He examines Bull’s face.

“Be careful,” Dorian says when Bull takes his hand. “I might start to believe you.”


End file.
